


What Dreams May Come

by MsLadySmith



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Dreams, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:35:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27481315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsLadySmith/pseuds/MsLadySmith
Summary: Soulmates are rare, but they exist.One learns of their soulmate in their dreams - when one sleeps, the other's life becomes their dreams.* * * * * * * * * * *I'll try to post regularly.  Kudos and comments give me life :)
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 10
Kudos: 60





	1. Chapter 1

The first time it happened, Greg had fallen asleep on the sofa again. Kate was spending the weekend with her friend Renee up in Manchester, so after work he settled in to watch crap telly, eat leftover Chinese food, and drink more beer than he should.

* * * * * * * * * *

A young woman took a seat beside him at the bar, smiling at him prettily. Her dark hair was swept up in a loose bun. She reached for his hand, but then her smile faded. She looked almost… disappointed? Greg was trying to figure out why when she took her drink and left him there, wondering.

Greg blinked, and suddenly he was in a grand dining room. People were seated around a large round table, and solicitous waitstaff were delivering a variety of exotic courses at intervals. He’d never been at such a fancy event – even his wedding was pretty casual, come to think of it. Everyone seemed to be in formal attire – tuxedos or glittery evening gowns. Quiet chatter filled the room.

Now, the way his dreams normally go, he’d expect to look down and find himself wearing nothing but the boxers Kate bought him for Valentine’s Day – the satin ones with little pink hearts all over them – but a glance thankfully proved him wrong. He saw that he, too, was in a tux, but… his hands looked wrong. They were not his own calloused hands, but pale, soft skinned ones. He watched in detached fascination as the elegant hands deftly used chopsticks to take a small bite of the food in front of him. _I never got the hang of chopsticks,_ he thought idly _. Good to know in a dream I can use them._

* * * * * * * * * *

It’s just after dawn when Greg was jarred awake by his phone, ringing and rattling along the coffee table. He fumbled to answer it.

“What is it, Sally?” he grumbled. As she spoke, he got to his feet. “I’ll be there in 10. Keep everyone away from Anderson, would you? Be nice if he could actually attempt to do his job.” The call disconnected, he grabbed his coat, and headed out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this chapter - Sunday was spent getting ready for a road trip, and posting the next chapter just slipped my mind. :)

The first time it happened, Mycroft had just finished dinner with the diplomatic delegation, excused himself – blaming jetlag and other responsibilities – and returned to his hotel room. 

Closing the door behind him, he removed his suit jacket, draping it across the chair in the corner, soon to be joined by his tie and waistcoat. Alicia had warned him that although these trips were tedious, they were a necessary part of his job. He sincerely hoped that such travel would be infrequent.

He queued up his favorite playlist on his phone and poured himself a generous glass of wildly-overpriced bourbon. Letting the strains of Chopin’s Nocturne No. 2, Op 9 wash over him, he melted onto the sofa at one end of the room, sipping the amber liquid with one hand while the other mimicked the playing of piano keys. Gradually, his glass emptied, his eyelids drooped, and he fell asleep.

* * * * * * * * * *

The alley was dark and damp – in other words, typical of London. He was standing in a crowd of people, all of them talking at once until someone yelled, “All right, you lot! Shut up and listen!” That someone was him? It didn’t sound like him, certainly, but everyone went silent and were staring at him with equal parts respect and fear. Mycroft listened to the voice give direction to the people standing around, each of them peeling off the group once their assignment was given.

The crowd dispersed, he leaned against the grimy wall, pulling a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of his pocket. _I don’t smoke…_ Mycroft thought to himself, but nonetheless, he put a cigarette between his lips and lit it, breathing the nicotine-laced smoke in deeply. 

Mycroft closed his eyes briefly, and was suddenly running, chasing after a man who is only a few paces ahead of him. The man stumbled, and Mycroft tackled him, both he and his quarry hitting the pavement. A brief struggle ensued, ending with a woman panting beside him, binding the man’s wrists. He struggled to catch his breath, managing to thank the woman as she and two uniformed officers took the man away.

He got up from the ground slowly. His left knee, it seemed, took the brunt of his fall – his trousers had a sizeable tear, and when he put weight on it, a bolt of pain shot through his leg and he leaned heavily on a nearby bin to steady himself.

* * * * * * * * * *

Mycroft woke with a start, grabbing his knee to inspect his injury, only to find there was none. No tear in his trouser leg, no gash just below the knee cap. _Quite a vivid dream,_ he wondered. 


	3. Chapter 3

After a quick trip to A&E to get his knee stitched up, Greg found himself limping along Baker Street. “Hey, Sherlock!” he called as he limped slowly up the steps to 221B. 

John met him at the door, offering his cane with a sympathetic smile. “I’m not using it anymore – you might as well take it,” he said as Greg took it, gratefully taking some of the weight off his bruised knee. “Unfortunately, Sherlock is off doing… something,” John said. “Anything I can help with?”

“You know, maybe,” Greg said, taking a seat in the living room. Not Sherlock’s chair, mind you – he knew better than that. “You ever have a dream where you were someone else? Like you thought you were you, but you realized you weren’t?” he asked. “God, that sounds even more insane when I say it out loud,” he chuckled. 

John looked at him carefully. “Well, once or twice, yeah. Have you been having dreams like that?”

“Just once - last night. It was so weird,” Greg shook his head. “I’m sure it was nothing. Probably just the Chinese food gone off a little or something.”

“Maybe. But it could be something. Tell me, could you see yourself? Or hear your voice?”

“There was a lot of talking going on – some sort of dinner party, I think. I could see that I was wearing a tux, and that I had pale, slender hands,” Greg held up his own hands – decidedly not pale or slender by any definition. “But other than that, no. I didn’t think to go look in a mirror, if that’s what you’re asking.”

John shook his head. “Yeah, wouldn’t have expected you to. Just wondering. Used to happen to me,” he continued, almost wistful. “Once in a while, when I was overseas. Thought I was losing my mind for a bit,” he chuckled. “When I got back to London, and Mike Stamford set me up to flat share with Sherlock… things just clicked.”

“Clicked? Like what?”

“You’ve heard of soulmates, right?”

“Yeah. Always thought it was bullshit, though,” Greg shook his head. 

John chuckled. “Me, too. Doesn’t happen often, after all. Turns out, though, Sherlock and I are soulmates. I was dreaming I was him, and he was dreaming he was me. Pretty damn weird, yeah?”

“Explains how well you two work together.” A knowing look. “And no, I don’t want to know about how well you two do anything else,” Greg laughed out loud.

“Yeah, well…” John blushed. “Anyhow. I had a chat with this specialist,” he continued, pulling a business card out of his wallet. “She might be able to shed some light. If you need it,” he passed the card to Greg, who took it. 

“We’ll see. Might have been nothing, right?” Greg looked over the card, skeptical, before tucking it into his pocket. 

“Mmhmm,” John nodded. “Of course. But maybe it’s not. Only one way to find out, right?”

“What’s that?”

“To meet them,” John shrugged with a slight grin. “You’ll just click. Trust me.”

Carefully, Greg got to his feet. “Well, I should be off. Thanks for the cane – I’ll get it back to you, yeah?”

“If you want. Like I said, I’m not using it anymore,” John smiled, following him to the door. “You want me to have Sherlock ring you when he gets back?”

“Nah, I’ll handle it. I’ll call if I need him, though.” With that, Greg limped down the stairs and headed toward the tube station.


End file.
